


Ruffles & Bullets

by tywinning



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 1950s AU, Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-28
Updated: 2014-06-28
Packaged: 2018-02-06 13:05:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1859076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tywinning/pseuds/tywinning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A 1950s AU drabble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ruffles & Bullets

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on [tumblr](http://joannalannister.tumblr.com/post/79068875066/ruffles-bullets-tywin-was-smoking-a-cigarette).

Tywin was smoking a cigarette when she saw him, waiting outside her ivy-covered sorority house.  _Of course he smokes_ , she chided herself. He was no longer the boy with skinned knees who ran after her father’s car as they drove away, no more than she was the little girl who cried when Stafford cut her pigtails off. It was 1958 now; boys grew up, hair grew back, and everybody smoked. 

But cigarettes weren’t the type of detail you learned about a man through the photographer’s portraits he sent, or the midnight phone calls, or the letters that arrived promptly every Tuesday, the gold TL monogram taking up a quarter of the page.  

“Hello, Cousin,” she said warmly. She was glad to see him. 

"It’s been too long, Joanna," Tywin said. He was leaning against the hood of a red convertible, crushing his cigarette under his wingtip and nervously running a hand through his hair. He never said  _hello_ , as if it inevitably led to  _goodbye_. It was like one long conversation had been going on between them for years. Her Boston boarding school, and the year in Paris perfecting her French, and now Wellesley were all just inconvenient interruptions. They always picked up right where they left off. 

"We spoke yesterday. Today, actually. The housemother isn’t very happy whenever you phone for me at 1am.”  

"Fuck her. And you know what I meant.” He studied her. “Pink suits you.” 

Joanna looked down at her coral colored heels in surprise; when men looked at her, they never made it as far as her feet. They usually didn’t make it back up to her face, either, but Tywin was looking with such intensity that she imagined he could see inside her, see what she dreamed of at night.  _I know what you want, Joanna Lannister,_  those eyes promised,  _and I will give it to you._

She held out her suitcase to him with a murmured  _thank you_ , noticing how his hand lingered over hers as he took it, before helping her into the car. She suddenly wished she weren’t wearing gloves. As he slid into the seat beside her, she leaned over without thinking and kissed him deeply. His mouth tasted like ashes. 

With Tywin breathless beside her after, Joanna turned on the radio and began rummaging in her purse.  _“…Health Service has found that a causal relationship exists between smoking and lung-”_  He switched over to a station with music.  _“…she told me how she cared for me and that we’d never part, and so for the very first time I gave away my heart…”_

At last Joanna found her filtered cigarettes. The box had a picture of mint leaves on the front. She let Tywin light one for her before he drove them away for the weekend. 

It was 1958, and everybody smoked. 


End file.
